


the world is static and so are we

by HalfaQueen



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Ellsworld, F/F, Implied Suicide Attempt, POV Second Person, Unrequited Love, but like we been knew, dream death but not graphic, tori has issues, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 09:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18870682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfaQueen/pseuds/HalfaQueen
Summary: The angry whirring of the computer systems become more than background noise, a far from silent judgment on your silver-lined tongue, as spiked and coated with hell as the horns on your head.(some things never change)You turn off the computer.





	the world is static and so are we

You feel numb as you walk down the darkened sidewalk, only the flickering streetlights and full moon to light your path. It’s been years since you've been here, too many, perhaps. But the concrete and all its cracks and divots feel familiar. You fiddle with the strings of your hoodie as you near your destination.

You now realize exactly how long it’s been since you could say you were nervous. as if freshman jitters were decades away. But the thought of seeing your old roommates again reawoke long-dormant butterflies. You hope they're still awake, between the sudden call and ungodly hour the growing fear of a less-than-glad welcome settles in the pit of your already twisted stomach.

The house was stale in your memory, but the sight seemed fresh as it had been the day you first moved in, or as the day you last moved out.

You make your way to the door and knock. The force of it swinging inward almost drags you with it before being smothered by green hoodie.

“Tori!” Ell shouts excitedly, squeezing you so tight you feel like you might pop. You squeeze back lightly to return the hug, and she lets you go, stepping aside so you can enter.

“It’s wonderful to see you again too.” you smile warmly as she closes the door behind you.

Quick footsteps down the hall are your only warning before being enveloped by a giant bearhug from Matilda, she shouts excitedly and attempts to lift you to spin around. You decide to pick her up instead. She’s always been much taller than you, but recently you became far stronger. You separate, laughing.

But the lively energy fades as Tamara appears in the hall, arms crossed over her chest. The contrast between her pale skin and the dark hall makes her seem angelic, even as her dark eyes glare daggers at you.

“Hi, Tam” you greet meekly. Her frown deepens.

“Don’t call me that.” she growls and turns down the hall. You’re more hurt than you expected, you knew Tamara didn’t like you.

(some things never change)

You become aware of a dull ache in your chest, it had been there so long it’d be easy to forget it hadn’t been there forever. You learned to ignore it, to move on. But now, in this moment, the burning was in full swing, crashing down every barrier you’d built to calm it.

It was just now you suspect this may have been a bad idea.

Ell seems to notice the change in emotion.

“Tori-” she puts her hand on your shoulder, startling you out of your thoughts. You quickly switch your demeanor.

“Er- she is probably just tired, it is getting late.” you speak quickly. “You guys should probably head off to bed too, I’ll be fine sleeping on the couch I know it’s all been very last minute.”

“Are you sure? You could share a room if-” she starts, but you cut her off.

“No, no, don’t worry about it it’s far too late to be arguing about sleeping arrangements, I’ll be fine. Promise.” You gently usher the two toward the back of the house.

“If you say so,” Ell mumbles, “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight!” Matilda adds.

“Goodnight.” you watch them disappear into respective rooms.

As soon as you are alone your warm smile turns into a frown.

You’ll talk to Tamara in the morning.

But for now…

You carefully make your way around, retracing old steps, motions that fill you with a sour type of nostalgia. A painting you’d hung years ago, you found yourself immensely grateful they’d never tried to move it. Not that you’d let them. This secret was far too big to risk

Until now, of course.

You knew you’d have to tell them eventually. But when you were younger you’d dream of it much… differently. You would dream of the look on their faces, to see you in uniform. To see your office, your army, your plans. You would seem to tower above them at first, standing in secret wedge heels at your desk (the floor is slightly sloped, impressions are important, alright) but then you’d walk toward them, be at their level but still standing proud, and ask them to join you.

Ask Tamara to rule by your side.

In your dreams, she’d always say yes.

(some things never change)

You have work to do, you are here for a reason. At least, as far as anyone who it was important to knows anyway. You are certain your true motive is suspected back at the base. But that was fine. You wouldn’t be long.

You remove the painting from the wall, your hand wavers on the lever installed into the crevice it covers. You eyes are caught by the emblem behind it.

Your emblem.

You’d chosen it because it was you, mirrored the horns you'd worn your hair in since high school, and the red hoodie you’d worn for the same amount of time. It was empowering, some saw it as demonic, but some would see your movement as demonic no matter what your symbol is. But to the people who follow you, it’s a source of pride, loud and sharp and fearless. It’s how they see you, how they have to see you. How you used to see yourself.

But to see it here, to see how far in the past your reach extends.

It’s nauseating.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath as you pull the lever.

Panels from the nearby wall slip away silently, revealing the entrance to the lab you’d built into the house years ago. You replace the painting and step through the entrance, the panels replacing themselves behind you.

The place was far from spotless, papers and machinery you’d deemed unimportant when clearing out the place last. Not that things were lost, you definitely would know where everything is. It’s just been a few years, that’s all, that's why you have no clue where anything is anymore.

Some of your blueprints were still here. Ones you never took for some reason or another, not important, had a better copy. There was one on proper display though, you’d placed it in such a way that it looked just abandoned but drew your eye in such a way.

Dramatic? Perhaps. But she would expect no less from you at this point.

It was of a brief dabble in biological experiments. You discovered a lot, one of those discoveries being you much prefer working with machines than living tissue.

The plans outlined a formula for a super soldier, big and fast and ruthless. Able to shift between human and something more…

Monstrous.

You have no idea if it worked. You hope it didn’t, honestly. She would kill you if she knew what you'd done before you could explain yourself properly. She’d probably kill you even if you could explain.

The smell of nicotine was thick, even after years of being left alone.

God, you need a smoke.

(some things never change)

You reach into your pocket for the container you keep on you at all times and pull out a thick cigar. Your hands are shaking as you light it, taking a few tries to click the lighter properly, but you manage. You breathe in deeply, letting the comforting grime fill your lungs. You exhale and watch the vapor rise and dissipate into the already thick air.

You have work to do.

The lights are dim as you make your way to the elevator down to the lower levels. The entire lab was a few stories deep, you’d first built it when all of you first moved in, you were happy to have a space to modify and experiment in by yourself. It was your safe haven for years, away from friends and responsibility, from life. From yourself.

The elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached the bottom floor. You step out into the cavernous lower level, a tall structure just underneath the lab proper. You flip a switch.

Lights flare to life one layer at a time up the cylindrical chamber. You look up and suddenly feel very small. The robot housed within the hollow chamber towers above you, it’s red paint chipped and dulled from years alone and unattended.

Something flickers in your peripheral vision. A blue hologram stands next to you, a relic of your past mindset.

Of course it looks exactly like Tamara.

“Hello, Tori. Welcome back.” The voice was glitchy and poorly programmed. Whether that was because of your inexperience or lack of data, you do not know. The exact thought process that had soothed your mind that this was definitely not creepy and not what every single technologically-advanced villain does to show how creepy they are escapes you.

“System report on project aGR-1.” you command, the AI takes a second to process the request, but as soon as it does holographic screens show up around you, detailing the project in its entirety.

“Outer plating - functional

Limb circuitry - online

Limb internal structure - functional

Chest circuitry - online

Chest internal structure - functional

Cockpit circuitry - online

Cockpit internal structure - functional

Entry systems - online

Weapon systems - online

Flight systems - Error

Warning - operation not recommended until repairs.”

Shit. you probably don’t have time to fix that.

“Advanced diagnoses?”

“Thrusters compromised, combustion system malfunction. 80% chance of explosion if activated.”

 _Shit_. you definitely don’t have time to fix that.

It’s fine, it’s only flight systems, if you don't use those until you can prepare them it should work fine.

You yawn, you’d never admit it to anyone but yourself the amount of sleep you've lost over this reunion. But within these expansive caverns, the only biological breath is your own, and as the only privy minds are yours and yours alone, spoken admittance is unnecessary.

The angry whirring of the computer systems become more than background noise, a far from silent judgment on your silver-lined tongue, as spiked and coated with hell as the horns on your head.

(some things never change)

You turn off the computer.

The silence does not judge as loudly, for its empty state is all the judgment it needs.

By the time the lab entrance closes behind you, once more cutting off the lab from the rest of the house, it is well past midnight. You have no doubt your friends will start to get suspicious if you don’t get at least a little of the sleep you promised.

You pass the kitchen on your way to the living room, out of the corner of your eye you see Tamara impatiently standing in front of the fridge, as she waits for a glass to full at the built-in water dispenser. You debate whether to talk or just leave and go to sleep when Tamara notices and makes the decision for you.

“Why are you up?” she grumbles, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Same as you.” you lie, moving to get a glass yourself to complete the illusion. Tamara huffs.

“Why are you here?” she nearly hisses. Her voice settles at the bottom of your stomach.

“To get a glass of water? I already said-” she cuts you off.

“No, like -” she takes a drink from her glass. “Why are you back.”

“Is it wrong to want to see some old friends?” you hum.

“You leave for 8 years, never check in with so much as a text, and suddenly drop back into our lives in the middle of the night and expect no one to be suspicious?” she spits, anger slowly mounting in her dark eyes. You shift nervously, she has a point.

It was now you conclude your previous assessment that this may have been a bad idea.

“Tamara, I-” you start, but Tamara growl cuts you off.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to hear your excuses, commie.” she turns to leave.

“So you ask for an explanation and then refuse to hear it? Real mature, Jehovah.” you tease, moving to fill your own glass.

The exchange of old nicknames should be nice, it should be a welcome familiarity to your old life. But the way she looks at you, all possible friendly warmth gone from her cold stare, the old insult wounds you in a way you’d never imagined it could.

She stops short of the door.

“Fine. I’ll bite. Why?” she asks again. You sigh.

“I… cannot tell you” you admit, her grasp tightens on her glass so that her pale knuckles go white and you fear she might shatter it.

“Of course, of _course_ you can’t.” her growl is fierce. You suddenly feel a resounding pang of fear in your chest, another feeling you haven’t had in years. You fight the instinct back away.

“Yet. I cannot tell you yet. I will, I promise.” you try to soften yourself, untense your muscles, try to appeal to her.

(some things never change)

She storms over to you. Before you know what’s happening she’s in your face, grabbing the neck of your hoodie and backing you against the table. The fear in your chest jumps into your throat and you recognize the feeling of being visibly terrified.

Tamara bears her teeth and you swore you’d never noticed how this girl has _fangs_. She’s growling in a way you could only place in a feral animal. In her dark eyes you can see the barest hint of purple glowing in their cores. It almost looks like…

Oh.

Oh _shit_.

“You had better fucking make good on that or I swear you won’t leave in one piece.” her words send shivers up your spine. You freeze best you can as if any sudden movement could spell your end.

She lets you go and turns her back as she walks out of the room, glass of water still in hand.

As soon as she leaves you nearly collapse, stabling yourself on the table. You place a hand on your chest to help soothe your quick breathing. You carefully maneuver yourself to place your elbows in the table to place your hands on your face. You rub your eyes. Your hand comes away wet.

You take one deep breath and down your half filled glass.

You have to steady yourself with a hand on the wall to make your way back to the couch, collapsing into the soft cushions.

 

_“Boss, we’ve got an issue” Paula seems panicked as she rushes into your office, her voice wavering. You race over to her. She chokes. her blue jacket starts to turn red. She falls over._

_Behind her, a seemingly infinite expanse of death. Patty lies near where her wife fell, dripping red from her forehead. Ell is on her back, the chest of her hoodie turned black with the mixed colors. Tears in Matilda’s eyes are slowly drying as she stills on her side, the grass below her stained with red from the dripping hole in her neck._

_Tamara limps toward you, dripping that same red from her shoulder and thigh. She points._

_“You”_

_Bang. Red starts to drip from her head. She falls._

_The gun is still smoking._

_You are looking into a mirror._

 

You wake up in a cold sweat, your breathing is heavy and your cheeks are slick with tears. The sun is barely up, you fall back onto the couch. Everything feels heavy, existence weighs on your limbs.

You get up, no use trying to fall back asleep now, and walk to the kitchen, careful not to wake anyone. You open the freezer and are entirely unsurprised when the contents are mostly bacon. You sigh and move to a find pan through the cabinets.

(some things never change)

You miss this. There's a certain way the sizzle echos in this kitchen that could never really be replicated anywhere else. Or the smell of salty meat mixed with the ever-present tinge of cherry cola. Or the way you instinctively dance around Ringo rubbing at your feet, mewing a plea for a share of the bacon.

“No, Ringo, not for kitties. Come on, I'm sure Ell will give you some if you wait a bit- _Ringo please_ ” you huff as you steady yourself after almost tripping over him.

“Good morning! Didn't think you’d be up this early.” you look to the entrance to see Matilda smiling at you.

“Ah! Good morning, I just thought I’d do something to thank you guys for letting me back at such short notice.” you stumble a bit, attempting to shoo Ringo away while being careful to keep an eye on the bacon. Matilda laughs and bends down to pick up the disruptive feline, he squeaks in protest but eventually accepts his fate as Matilda starts scratching his neck. You turn back to the food.

“You really didn’t need to, not to complain, breakfast is usually my job these days.” She laughs, “Ell was really excited when you called.” Your smile falters.

“Well, she certainly was a bit hyper at the door.” You quip.

You have the unmistakable feeling of being studied, a learned detection of someone who’s realized something's wrong but isn’t quite sure what it is.

“You’ve been crying.” She states, swiftly moving to your side. You don’t look at her.

“Just a bad nightmare, I am fine.” you smile at her. She doesn't smile back.

“I promise.” She sighs, but smiles.

“Alright, anything I can do to help?” She looks at the bacon you’ve been tending to.

“No, I’m almost done. You could try and wake the others?” You suggest. She laughs.

“Try is the key word huh?” Both of you share a giggle. She leaves.

You run your hands through your hair, taking a deep, shaky breath. Your eyes must still be puffy, you move the done bacon to the waiting mostly-full plate and move to the sink.

You splash your face. The cool water feels soothing. Your breathing calms. You pat your face dry.

You move the plate of bacon to the table as Matilda comes back, Ell in tow.

“Good morning!” you smile warmly, Ell rubs her eyes, obviously distressed at being awake.

“‘Mornin.” she grumbles, lazaly stumbling toward the fridge.

“I think Tamara’s awake? But who knows how long it’s going to take her to join us.” Matilda sits down, Ell finds her seat as well, chugging a cherry cola with vigour.

The three of you are about half-way through the plate when Tamara shows up in the doorway. She’s carrying the glass she took last night. Ell pipes up, caffeine running through her system.

“Sleeping beauty awakes!” She teases. Matilda laughs. Tamara huffs, but smiles.

(some things never change)

Tamara takes one look at you and at the bacon on the table.

“If Tori made that i'm not touching it, she’s probably poisoned it or something” she huffs. You roll your eyes and take a piece from the plate, you keep eye contact as you bite it.

“Not poisoned, unless you wanna place money on pulling an Inigo Montoya.” You joke. Ell almost chokes on her soda. You see a smile dance on Tamara’s face.

“Inconceivable!” Ell shouts along.

“You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means” Matilda continues, casing Ell to bark a laugh. Tamara spins into a fencing pose, imaginary blade pointed at you.

“You seem a decent fellow, I hate to kill you” she quips. You lift an opposing imaginary weapon.

“You seem a decent fellow, I hate to die!” You pretend to clash swords around the kitchen, laughing through shitty sound effects.

The bright mood was a welcome distraction to the life you have to this point lived, as if there wasn't a huge robot under the house, as if you weren't here only hours before when Tamara threatened your life. as if you hadn't disappeared for 8 years only to show up late at night with hardly a warning. As if the reprave was not promised by fate to be painfully short and horribly ended.

You catch your breath in between barked laughs. You look up at Tamara doing the same. You’d forgot her smile, caught up in the emotion of an unreachable crush you’d never thought to remember why.

Time slows as you suddenly lose your caught air.

She’s brushing the hair out of her face, her soft lips slightly parted. A light dusting of blush on her cheeks highlights the softness of her features. The light above her head seems to form a halo. The thought hits you that you did that. You made her laugh. It seems the first in a long line of your doings you can’t find the heart to regret.

You feel like you’re in highschool again, young and nervous. A familiar rush spreads through your chest, and you fall in love all over again.

Time unfreezes and you look away, everyone to caught up in there rapture to notice your own flush is not from exertion anymore.

Breakfast ends, and Ell jumps up excitedly, and grabs you by the arm

“Come on! We’ve got so much catching up to do!” she leads you up a staircase you don’t remember into an attic you definitely don’t remember. The room is filled to the brim with strange nick-nacks and various junk. It only takes you a few second to realize this must me Matilda’s new room, how she still lives like this, you wouldn’t know.

Ell leads you to a wall displaying various pictures and things, adventures they’ve had after you left. A fake spaceship, a few busted hardhats, a large sword next to a broken mirror, some kind of gun even you can’t identify, and other various strange bits and pieces.

“You guys sure had lots of adventures while i was away. I wish i could have been there.” you reminisce.

Your eye catches a framed picture of the trio in fake spacesuits, smiling.

You are surrounded by your old friends, you have connections that span the globe times over, you have second in commands and generals and captains and so, _so_ many people you know.

And yet, you have never felt more alone in your entire life.

“Well, at least we have more memories to make!” Ell smiles at you, it cheers you up just enough to cover your real feelings.

“Yeah, i guess we do.”

(some things never change)

You think about the chipping red paint below your feet. You don’t look at her.

The smell of buttery popcorn seems to populate every corner of the house, the squelching noises of shitty special effect zombie wounds amplified by new speakers encapsulates you in a way the should probably be worrying, given your history with zombies, but you don’t have the time to be worrying about that specifically. Despite the promised reprieve of movies your thoughts wander back to the one place you would really rather avoid.

You look at Tamara across the couch. She glares at you.

That settles it. You can’t take this anymore. The sooner you get all of this over with the sooner you won’t need to think about any of this anymore.

“I gotta go to the bathroom, be right back.” you lie.

“Alright, i’ll pause it for you.” Ell reaches for the remote

“Thanks”

You leave. You walk past the kitchen. You remember. You try to forget.

The entrance to your lab slides open silently. You don’t close it behind you. They deserve to know once your gone again. You fiddle with the lab’s controls, muscle memory guiding your fingers. Panels in the floor open up and a button rises up.

You hesitate. The resolve you mad not even a minute earlier had faded almost completely as your hand hovers on the large red button.

_“TORI!”_

Shit.

Tamara stands in the doorway, a paper in her hand.

“WANTED - Red Leader” a picture of you plastered in the front.

“Tamara! What are you doing here?” you question, you try to sound angry but your fear is slowly slipping into your voice as she stares you down

“I was going to ask you the same thing, I found this a week ago. Honesty i wanted to believe it was fake at first.” she crumples up the paper.

“Okay. You got me” you raise your hands for emphasis. “I’m with the government to infiltrate your fridge, also i never loved you” the sarcasm hits slightly harder than you meant it to. She laughs, not the, beautiful, genuine sound at breakfast, but a nervous chortal.

“How much of that is a lie?”

“You figure it out”

You press the button.

You land in the cockpit of your robot, it lights up with diles and displays as it rises to the surface. you turn to the house, it looks small from this distance. You see all three of your (no doubt former) friends rush outside.

“Tori! What’s going on!” You hear Ell shout.

“Sorry Ell! I just couldn't leave this behind, thanks for holding on to it for me!” You yell back.

“But i thought we were… i thought we were friends!” the betrayal in her voice hits hard. You want nothing more than to quit. To get out of this prototyped robot and go back.

But you can’t. And you’re about to make damn sure of it.

“Ha! No! What would i need friends for when i’ve got this! I’m unstoppable!” you lie

You lie because that's what you _do_ , you lie because you’re the villain, because you’re an actress at the best of times and a damn fool at the worse, and because even you know this isn’t a love story.

You never did keep your promise.

“Well, i got what i came here for! Goodbye, old friends.”

You hope you didn’t end up putting to much emotion into it.

You don’t want them to have any sympathies for you after this. You’ll be mourned plenty elsewhere, you don’t want them to be burdened by your memory.

You wonder who will be the quickest to move on.

You take a deep breath as you activate the flight systems.

A warning pops up almost instantly. You ignore it.

You feel a peace you never thought you would, the ache in your chest lifts. Despite the G-forces of your accent you feel light, flouting. The blaring alarm fades, your almost there.

_“I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND”_

You don't know how you hear it.

You don't know what happens next.

suddenly you have a sharp pain in your left arm.

Your right moves without your knowledge.

You don't know what it did, muscle memory ruling it's actions.

Everything goes white.

You would swear you'd never lost consciousness despite finding yourself clumsily regaining it, the pressure of the runed metal around you providing enough weight to temporarily relieve the pain from your numerous injuries.

Your breathing is surprisingly even, a good sign. Probably. Of all the things you have to be uncertain about your physical state is the most pressing, however it is also the farthest from your mind. Perhaps if you laid still enough you'd emulate death enough for it to come for you, to leave you with the closure you'd hoped for. The closure they deserved.

The closure you all deserve.

You don’t hear the car rumble up the hill. You do feel it though, the numbness blocked out your normal ache of life and left you particularly sensitive to the grassy earth beneath you.

You will yourself upright, using your right arm to push away the crumpled red metal that represented your most recent failure. You think you hear talking, but it feels like a broken earbud, the song stopping in places it would otherwise play another line in the second speaker, the unsatisfying music continuing unheeded.

What you do recognise is the voices. You feel Paula’s hand on your left shoulder. You feel your shoulder moving. But anything past that is pins and static, only adding to the cloud in your brain. You open your eyes. Or, at least, try to. The lack of peripheral vision on your left side bothers you more than the lack of vision from that eye in general.

“I don’t wanna say i told you so, but like, with all due respect, i definitely did” Patty quips from your right side. She doesn't say anything else when you can’t find the words or heart to respond.

You can see the house from here. You think you can see Tamara on the curb, Matilda sitting next to her. You see turquoise sightly cover her signature blue.

That pain is comparably dull.

(some things never change.)


End file.
